


Real Hard to Pull Us Apart

by stepquietly



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stepquietly/pseuds/stepquietly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do any of these worlds end well, Will?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real Hard to Pull Us Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cthonical (Nellie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellie/gifts).



The dreams always start the same way. 

It’s probably something to do with Abigail’s idea of alternate worlds, the idea of a world in which Will packed his things that night and followed Hannibal out the door to - wherever. You’d think his dreamscape would stretch to accommodate all the places Hannibal’s been, all the places he’s been himself, but that’s never the case. He’s never been able to imagine the part of the world Hannibal carved out for them and this is the result – his mind returns to every room he’s been in with Hannibal instead. 

“I’m not insane though,” he reassures Hannibal, fingers still on the rough material of his trousers, smoothing them against his thighs. “I know she’s not real. I just find it easier to talk to her this way.” 

He flicks a glance at where Hannibal is browsing the stacks. The room is silent around them, butcher striped curtains letting in just enough light to leave the space feeling isolated yet welcoming. It’s just the two of them here in this one; none of the others have made it in. 

“Do any of these worlds end well, Will?” Hannibal’s voice is dispassionate but his head is tilted much too far for the polite interest he’s pretending in reshelving books among the stacks. Even here Will knows him too well at this stage to be fooled by that particular ploy any more than he would’ve been fooled by Hannibal meeting his eyes head on.

The realization startles him into laughter. All these realities and they’re essentially the same. “This is one of the worlds where you’re not feeding her to me, so all in all, I think this one might be one of the better ones.”

“Oh?” 

Will takes that for the opening it is. “You like for us to share her. And when you carve, you tend to take the lion’s share.” He snorts a laugh. “You’re really not a subtle man.”

Hannibal shrugs. “Or perhaps I’m simply not a man afraid to be bold.” He turns from where he’s been inspecting his bookshelves, curiosity drawing him closer to where Will sits waiting. “I’m hardly the one that needs a teenager to articulate how much you miss me.” The smile that stretches his face is satisfaction itself, pride at having played the game well and won. 

“Yes, well,” Will rubs at his face and slumps back in the chair, the movement jarring his side enough that he hisses for a minute and eases into a better position, “you’ve got no monopoly on symbolism.”

“I never claimed such,” Hannibal chides, eyeing him carefully. He runs a finger down the spine of the last book he reshelved, a copy of Poe’s Tell-tale Heart because everything in Will’s brain exists merely to fuck with him. “Tell me, do you eat what I put in front of you?” 

Will feels his eyes flutter slightly, a familiar combination of fear and arousal welling in him. “Oh,” he grits out through his trembling, eyes open and gaze fixed to Hannibal’s to convey his angry sincerity, “every bite.”

Hannibal smiles at him, a beautiful thing that lights up his face like a benediction, like he might be capable of a version of himself that might – 

Will wakes up to sweaty sheets, the scar in his side throbbing. The hotel room is quiet, dingy, the curtains hanging limply against the windows and stifling any real breeze. His dick is hard enough to hurt, the feel of a heartbeat echoing through it and through the scar like they’re linked now, forced into syncopation by Will’s foolish heart. 

He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and holds his breath until he’s arching against his sheets unable to stop himself from gasping it in. “Fuck,” he whispers, and presses down on the scar, digs a nail into its edges, the pain enough to make him jerk, precome spitting from his dick. 

He closes his eyes against the sight of the ugly scalloped ceiling and imagines the soaring walls of the chapel at Palermo above him, the bones of Hannibal’s victims below, the heart beating in front of him, and Hannibal behind him, waiting. 

His hand flies over his dick, the speed too rough to be comfortable, building into the pressure at the base of his balls. It hurts, but it hurts just enough to have Will gasping, eyes screwed shut, other hand practically a claw digging into his side as he arches upward against himself. 

“It’s a token of my regard,” Hannibal whispers in his ear, and Will comes, heartbeat ringing in his ears, through his brain, through his scar.

**Author's Note:**

> This latest episode has ruined me. RUINED ME UTTERLY AND COMPLETELY.
> 
> Title from https://seayou.bandcamp.com/track/rifle-scissor-stone which is pretty much my ultimate Hannibal song.


End file.
